The Shapeshifter's Clues (Camilo Madrigal x Reader)

In For a Ride

The carriage ride into the small, insignificant village your mother had decided to call home was a long grueling one, where suddenly the palmas were as tall as buildings and the mountains were so large you almost couldn't see the sky, even if you tried sticking your head out the window.

"Just try to enjoy it. For me, for your abuela --- especially for her. You know how hard its been for all of us," your mother said.

You really didn't pay attention. You didn't really care. All you could think about was the life you  were leaving behind: your best friends Anita and Elena, who had both attempted to beg to your mother to stay, the little house where your brothers and you had grown up in, and your pet monkey Marcel, who was fighting the small cage he was contained in.

With an empty frown, you gazed outside the window and closed your eyes.

Just a few days before you turned [your age], your mother had been acting strange. When you finally had the courage to ask why, you wished you had just kept your curiosity to yourself.

"Mamá? What's the matter? It's been two days since your last telenovela binge," you jokingly asked, so as not to seem naggy.

Your mother smiled but it was quickly replaced with a somber shade that seemed to darken the room. Upon closer examination you could see her red eyes and tears brimming them, like a pool of dying stars.

"Mamá?"

"Oh, y/n, you're here. Nothing's wrong, I was just thinking," she replied.

Your mother, Juanita Alvarez, was the rock of the family. She was always the one to make you smile when you felt sad, to cheer you up, and then make you some arepas to make you feel better. She was a telenovela freak, and you had memorized at least 20 seasons of every Colombian telenovela in existence. If she was crying, something was seriously wrong.

After an intimidating silence, she broke down and explained in between tears, "Your grandmother is very sick, and your father has just lost his job at Señor Martinez's zapateria. We have been talking, and it's possible that we may need to move to your abuela's village to be close to her."

"Why can't we just visit? Why do we need to move?" you asked, lifting one eyebrow.

"Since your father lost his job and he was the only one working, we....we....need to sell the house," your mother hesitated before she continued.

"What? But I love it here! My friends, my teachers at the school, our house with the yellow fence!" you exclaimed. "I...HELPED paint that fence."

Your mother laughed. "Since when did you care so much about the fence? Y/n, you've been saying forever that it clashes with my flowerpots on the porch!"

Grunting, you murmur, "I care now."

Your mother, however, was not one to dwell on the past. Which is how a week later, all your possessions were in boxes, your parents were chatting with the house's buyer, and you were sitting in the carriage, sniffing quietly so no one could hear you cry.